


Interview With the Sheriff

by heavenorspace, twobirdsonesong



Series: A Boy and His Wolf [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A Boy and His Wolf, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bullying, Developing Relationship, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Sheriff Stilinski Feels, Stilinski Family Feels, Time Skips, Wolf Derek, kid stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:19:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1291066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenorspace/pseuds/heavenorspace, https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobirdsonesong/pseuds/twobirdsonesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles comes home from a particularly rough day at school and the Sheriff isn't terribly surprised when the wolf that won't go away shows up too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interview With the Sheriff

**Author's Note:**

> A Boy and His Wolf is a collaborative project between [heavenorspace](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenorspace/pseuds/heavenorspace) and myself.
> 
> It will be a series of vignettes, out of chronological order, set in a world where Derek, in the form of a wolf, first encountered Stiles when he was a toddler playing in the woods. Derek is under strict pack orders not to reveal himself as werewolf to the human boy and must only interact with him as a wolf. When Stiles is a child, their relationship is strictly platonic and protective in nature. As Stiles grows older that begins to change.
> 
> Each drabble will be accompanied by a piece of art drawn by heavenorspace.

(art by heavenorspace)

 

The Sheriff doesn’t mean to let the wolf into his house. He knows the dangers of wild things. He knows there are creatures in the woods and wilds he’s supposed to keep at bay.  The house is his castle, the walls are his keep, and his door is the gate.  They’re his to protect, as are the sacred things inside the keep – his to protect from the ghosts and the demons and the beasts of the forest.

 

But Stiles comes home from school that afternoon with raw, scuffed knuckles and tired circles under his eyes.  His sneakers drag against the carpet and he doesn’t even acknowledge his father as he drops his bag on the floor. An air of fatigue and defeat hangs heavy around him and it breaks the Sheriff’s heart.

 

“Hey, son,” the Sheriff tries, but Stiles just grunts and tries to walk away.  That won’t do. “Hey.  Hold on.”  The Sheriff grabs Stiles by the arm, forcing him to turn towards him. Stiles blinks those huge eyes of his – his mother’s eyes – and looks away.

 

The Sheriff searches his son’s face, looking for the telltale black eye or split lip that comes from a fight, but there’s nothing there.  There’s nothing visible, just the scrapes on his hands and the dirt on his clothes.

 

“What happened?”  He asks.  There’s nothing broken on surface, but the Sheriff knows his son is hurt nonetheless.

 

“Nothing,” Stiles mutters, completely unconvincingly.

 

The Sheriff always knows when someone is lying to him (he’s not the Sheriff for nothing), and Stiles isn’t exactly telling the truth. And he knows his son well. “Stiles.”

 

“It’s nothing,” Stiles shrugs.  “Just some kids at school.”

 

“Who?”  He wants names.  The Sheriff can’t technically arrest them, but he can be sure to pull their parents over for the most minor of traffic violations.

 

“They’re nobody, Dad.”

 

“Tell me what happened,” the Sheriff pushes.

 

Stiles scuffs his dirty sneakers against the floor, but he doesn’t pull his arm from his dad’s grip.  “They didn’t like what I had to say about the size of their frontal lobes.  I don’t even think they knew what I was talking about.”

 

The Sheriff has to bite back a smile. He knows the way his son’s verbal acuity can so easily get under people’s skin.  “Did you tell a teacher?”

 

Stiles shrugs.  “Didn’t have to.   One saw.”

 

“And?”

 

“The guys got suspended.”

 

The Sheriff nods.  That will have to do, since he can’t arrest the little shits. “Did they hit you?” He rubs his hand across the top of Stiles’ head and the buzz cut tickles his palm.

 

“Just pushed me around.  I tripped.  Over my own stupid feet.  Hit the ground.”  Stiles wipes his thumb across his scraped knuckles and he blushes a little.  He’s been growing so much lately, quickly adding inches to his height as he looses control over his lengthening limbs. The Sheriff thinks he suddenly looks like a colt or a doe, skinny bodied and unstable – scrambling instead of walking, wobbling instead of standing.  The Sheriff knows his son will grow into his body eventually, but it will take time.

 

“Are you okay?” The Sheriff asks, knowing that his son will never say ‘no,’ but he has to ask anyway.  It’s his job as a father.

 

“Can I go?” Stiles asks instead of answering. “I’m kind of tired.”

 

“Fine.  But we’re getting pizza for dinner and you won’t complain about it.”

 

Stiles wrinkles his nose and sighs like the weight of the world was just dropped on his shoulders in the form of a high calorie dinner. “Veggie pizza.”

 

“Fine,” the Sheriff agrees and finally smiles a little bit. He rubs his hand across the top of Stiles’ head again and wishes his son hadn’t gotten too old to kiss on the forehead.  But he’s not too old to hug.  He tugs Stiles into his arms and it only takes a moment for his son to relax against him.

 

 _I love you and I’m so proud of you_ , the Sheriff thinks, holding him tight.

 

The Sheriff finally releases his son with a last firm squeeze.  Stiles lopes into the living room and collapses face down on the couch, as though he hasn’t even the energy to lock himself away in his bedroom.  The sight of the dirt stains on his jeans makes the Sheriff clench his fists and take a deep breath.  He never thought he’d be raising a son alone.

 

He steps into to the kitchen to scrounge up the number to the pizza place when a scratching at the back door catches his attention. He doesn’t have his gun on him, but his hand drifts to his hip anyway.  He looks out of the window and his breath catches hard in his chest.

 

A black wolf is sitting on the back stoop, gazing imploringly up at him through the glass.  The Sheriff frowns. 

 

He’s seen the wolf skulking around for years and he still can’t make any sense of it.  There aren’t any wolves left in California, or at least there aren’t supposed to be.  But there is one sitting at his back door, real as anything else.  And it’s not like it’s the first time it’s happened.

 

Years ago, his wife came back from a walk in the woods with Stiles to tell him that their son had pulled free from her hand and run off, only to be returned to her at the side of a young wolf. A black wolf.  And in the years that followed the Sheriff has seen the wolf more times than he can explain.  The animal mostly keeps to the edge of the property, but the Sheriff has caught his son playing with the wolf out in the yard more times that he cares to think about it.  The first time the Sheriff saw his young boy rolling around with a wolf he almost had a heart attack.

 

He’s lectured his son over and over about the dangers of wild animals, that he needs to stay away from the wolf, that wolves aren’t dogs and cannot be tamed.  But this wolf, this wolf defies all explanation.  He seems almost domesticated and his eyes, his eyes are eerily sharp and cunning.  He seems like he _understands_.  And that doesn’t make any sense at all. Except his wife had said the same thing about the wolf that rescued their son from the woods.

  
The Sheriff had taken his shotgun out once, just _once_ , to try scare that animal off for good, but Stiles had run at him and tried to wrestle the weapon straight out of his hands.

 

“Dad! No don’t!” Stiles had cried out, tears in his eyes and hands scrabbling at the weapon.

 

“Son, get back.”  He’d immediately put the safety back on the riffle and had watched as the wolf remained seated at the tree line, perfectly still and calm, staring quietly back at them.

 

“Don’t hurt him,” Stiles pled.  “He’s not dangerous.  I swear.”

 

The Sheriff had stared at his young son in amazement. “He’s a wolf.” Except the Sheriff had never once seen the animal interact with his son in any way that indicated any danger or threat at all.

 

“Dad, he’s my friend.”

 

“Stiles.”

 

“Wolves really aren’t that dangerous,” Stiles began, voice firm in a familiar way, and the Sheriff had sighed, knowing he was about to be lectured.  “They’re very closely related to dogs.  And we _have_ been talking about getting a dog.  Did you know the average life span of the Grey Wolf in the wild is only 6-8 years?  Do you really want to cut that even shorter?  Look at him.  He’s not much older than me.”

 

The Sheriff glanced away from his son, who was staring at him with bright, imploring eyes and gesticulating wildly, over to the wolf. He wolf had blinked slowly.

  
“They live in packs, you know?  There’s always an alpha in a pack.  A leader.  And the other wolves follow the leader.  And they display certain behaviors to let the leader know that they understand he’s in charge.”

 

The Sheriff had watched at the wolf immediately dropped low to the ground and flattened his ears.  That was maybe the moment the Sheriff first got the inkling that the wolf was a little different.

 

“See?” Stiles had flung his arm out. “He sees you at the alpha, Dad. The boss.  The leader.  The head honcho.  He’s not going to do anything.  He’s safe, dad. I know he is.  We’re friends.  He’s my friend.”  And then Stiles’ voice has suddenly gone completely serious.  “He’s my best friend.”

  
The Sheriff had swallowed heavily and stared down at his kid. “Stiles.”

 

Stiles had squared his shoulders and looked back up resolutely.  In that moment the Sheriff had seen the fire and iron will of his wife in their son. “And besides.  They’re endangered.  You can’t hurt him.  It’s _illegal_.”

 

The Sheriff had sighed and had known he was beat, at least for that round.

 

The Sheriff is shaken out of the memory when the wolf scratches at the door again before turning around in a tight, frustrated circle.  The Sheriff can hear his piteous, sad whining through the wood.

 

He’s a police officer.  He knows all about risk and danger and how to read a situation, but he also knows about patterns.  About things not always being as they seem.  And this wolf is no ordinary wolf.  The world is a complicated place full of unknowables and the sheriff understands that he doesn’t know everything.  But he’s learning.

 

Against all better judgment, the Sheriff opens the door.

 

The wolf remains low on his belly, big head on his paws, gazing up at the Sheriff with those too intelligent eyes of his.

 

“Why are you here?” The Sheriff asks him.

 

The wolf whines and crawls a little on his belly towards him, ears flat back against his skull.

 

“What are you?”

 

The wolf whines again and inches a little closer, his paws just barely touching the threshold of the door.

 

The Sheriff clenches his jaw.  He should be afraid, but he’s not.  For some insane reason, he’s just not. “If you harm one hair on his head I swear-”

 

The wolf shakes his head and makes a pained kind of a noise the Sheriff doesn’t even think is possible for a wolf to make.

 

“I have a gun,” the Sheriff warns as he takes a few steps back, clearing the doorway.  “In fact, I have several.  And I’m highly trained.”

 

The wolf rises to his feet.  His big paws and long, almost gangly limbs remind the Sheriff of Stiles.

 

“Go on then,” the Sheriff sighs and waves for the wolf enters the house.  The wolf lopes through the kitchen and right into the living room.  The Sheriff takes a moment to lean heavily against the wall.  He has no idea what he’s doing.  He just let a fucking _wolf_ into his home, knowing said animal would head straight for his son.  But he knows in his bones, somehow he knows, that the wolf won’t hurt Stiles.  Or him. The Sheriff grabs the number for the pizza place and calls in the order.  It’s something _normal_ for him to do in the midst of this insanity.

  
When he finally makes his way to the living room, trepidation leadening his every step, he’s almost not even shocked to find the wolf up on the couch with Stiles. His son has fairly thrown himself on top of the wolf, wrapped his limbs all around the big body, and buried his face in the thick fur at the wolf’s neck.  The Sheriff thinks he should worry about the proximity of the wolf’s sharp teeth and strong jaw, but he doesn’t.  Instead, he sighs and puts his hands on his hips.

 

“He doesn’t get to be on the furniture, Stiles.” The Sheriff is pretty sure he’s found wolf fur on his son’s clothing before; he doesn’t need it all over the couch too.  He’s also pretty sure this wolf is going to be in his life a lot more than it already is.

 

Stiles grumbles in annoyance, but shifts, only to slide off the couch and down onto the floor.  The wolf follows him, immediately settling into a comfortable position. The Sheriff doesn’t know if the wolf somehow sensed Stiles’ distress after the incident at school, but he’s here.  He came. He came closer than his usual spot at the edge of the Stilinski property.  He came right up to the door and demanded to be let inside. That says something, even if the Sheriff isn’t entirely sure what.  And his son obviously takes comfort from the presence of the wolf.

 

“Thanks, dad,” Stiles says after a few minutes. The Sheriff looks over to find Stiles with his eyes closed and his features finally relaxed.

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

The wolf whuffs softly and the Sheriff snorts. “You’re welcome too.”

 

The Sheriff doesn’t mean to let the wolf into his house, but his son is stretched out on the floor of the living room, leaning back comfortably against the big black animal, and there’s nothing he can do about it now.

 

He sits back in chair, getting comfortable, and waits for the pizza to arrive, trying to act like this is his every day life. He just hopes the delivery kid doesn’t see the wolf.

 


End file.
